The Clock Will Strike
by echoes mourn
Summary: An aging billionaire offers the hospital a donation of 100 million dollars. But that much money always comes with strings attached... Now complete.
1. That time may cease

Disclaimer: I own House about as much as I own Bill Gates.

There are references to the Vogler story arc, but nothing you'd call a spoiler.

**A/N**: This story is for my wonderful reviewers: enots, Gallop Girl, and Luveniar FurElise here; and Aimee, Ali, and Emma elsewhere. Thanks to all of you, and I hope you like this one. (Multiple chapters this time. I hope that's a good sign!)

_Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib'd  
In one self place; for where we are is hell,  
And where hell is there must we ever be._

_--Christopher Marlowe_

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Cameron was well into sorting through House's e-mail, and Chase had a good start on his crossword puzzle when Foreman arrived, wearing the harassed look of someone not used to being late. "Sorry. I got my new couch delivered today, and of course they were half an hour late getting it there."

Chase shrugged. "Well, unsurprisingly, you still managed to beat House here, so you're good."

Foreman hung up his jacket and pulled on his lab coat, turning around just in time to see Cameron holding up a small white box. "Here, have a croissant. I got them on the way in. There's no sign of a case yet, so we might as well all relax while we can."

It was perhaps this last statement that led fate to bring Cuddy into the office, obviously on a mission. She wore a flamingo pink jacket and skirt that made the other doctors blink at the color. "Please tell me House is here," she said, holding up a file. She looked frazzled -- not unusual if House was involved -- but this time she actually looked hopeful at the thought of finding him, which definitely was unusual.

"This early? Not a chance," Foreman said, shaking his head. Croissant in one hand, he picked up the box and offered it to Cuddy, but she waved it off.

"No, thanks. I'll leave this here for you three to start with," she added, putting the thick file folder on the table. "This is your new patient." She spoke almost reverently, and earned herself three odd looks.

"William Oswin," Chase read. "Wait, the second richest man in the world, that William Oswin?"

"The same. He's expected here in less than an hour, and he's requested House specifically."

Foreman looked at her pleadingly. "Please, don't tell House that. He has enough ego as it is."

The three of them were already studying the file, handing papers back and forth. "The man's already had every medical test under the sun," Chase observed. "But they all look, well, normal."

Cameron was nodding in agreement. "Why did he request House? None of these tests show anything actually wrong with him. Except the fact that he's eighty years old, and it doesn't require a world-famous diagnostician to reach that conclusion."

To Foreman's annoyance, House chose that moment to appear, bursting through the conference room door in his usual abrupt fashion. "Ah, you're all talking about me again. I can just feel the love." Then he saw Cuddy, and held up a hand to shield his eyes. "Whoa! But I can't _see_ it, because your outfit has blinded me. Is this your new, subtle way of telling me not to look at your cleavage?"

"House, if you pull this case off, you can stare at my cleavage until Doomsday, for all I care."

"Where's the fun in that, unless it bothers you?" He limped over to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup before throwing himself into one of the chairs. "Just for that, I may refuse to take this wonder case of yours."

Cuddy sighed. "It isn't your usual sort of case, I admit, but this is your big chance."

Cameron offered him a croissant, which he leaned forward to claim. "What, to win fame and fortune? I'm already famous, as Cameron so rightly pointed out."

"The second richest man in the world is on his way here," Cameron explained.

"Bill Gates is coming here?" he asked around a mouthful of pastry, eyebrows raised.

"No, he's the first richest," Chase said.

House shook his head. "Nuh uh. I hear Gates has been slipping and let some other guy pass him up."

"The point is, he's a billionaire trying to buy his way out of getting old." Foreman said.

Cameron nodded. "He's already taking a very expensive course of anti-aging hormone treatments, but apparently that's not enough for him."

House grabbed some papers with his free hand and glared up at Cuddy. "What is this crap? How is this a diagnostics case?"

"Look, we all know that he's just being a hypochondriac and thinks enough money can fix anything. But he has promised – House, are you listening to me? Because this is important."

"Yes, mommy," House sighed, rolling his eyes up at her.

"If we can help him, he has promised to replace the entire hundred million dollars that _you_ lost. _The entire hundred million. _No strings attached. So can you please just forget the fact that this isn't a diagnostics problem and humor the man? Run a few tests, get him on some palliative treatments – who knows, maybe there really is something minor wrong with him that we can actually fix. So for god's sake, just try and take this seriously."

The three younger doctors tensed and exchanged startled looks as Cuddy laid out the stakes, watching quietly as the battle of wills continued.

"So if I humor this guy long enough to get the money, you'll never be able to throw that whole Vogler incident in my face ever again," House said thoughtfully.

"I realize that's a very big if, but I hope that statement means you're at least willing to try."

"Is he going to want to talk to me?"

"For a hundred million? Yeah, I think you can spare him a few minutes of your valuable time."

There was a tense moment, then House made a strategic withdrawal. "All right. But I wouldn't do this for a penny less than the full one hundred million." He hauled himself up and went over to the whiteboard.

Cuddy's relieved smile froze into a grimace as she heard his next words. "Okay, kids, differential diagnosis on being an old fart with more money than sense."

Foreman grinned, Chase turned a laugh into a cough, and even Cameron had to fight to keep a straight face. "Oh, relax," House said, waving a hand casually at the furious Cuddy. "I'm just getting it out of my system before his majesty arrives."

"Just make sure it _is_ out of your system," she replied through gritted teeth, before turning and marching down the hall.

-----------------------------------

Unsurprisingly, Oswin wanted to meet the entire team. So, after a diagnostic session that was really more a chance for House to vent, they were all summoned into the billionaire's room. Two people in business suits lingered in the background, one with a cell phone, the other a laptop, clearly waiting impatiently for this conference to be over so they could get back to the real work.

The expensive hormone treatments might have been worth it, for Oswin looked closer to sixty-five than eighty. His hair was silver, but still thick, and his eyes were alert, even piercing. He greeted them all as Cuddy made the introductions, repeating their names and giving each a firm handshake. Even Foreman had to admit that he was charismatic, though there was also steel behind those grey eyes.

But the steel melted into relief when Cuddy introduced House. "The man himself. I've heard a great deal about you."

Under Cuddy's watchful eye, House shifted his cane awkwardly and returned the handshake. "I could say the same. Pleasure."

"I'm told that if anyone on earth can find out what's killing me, it's you." The steel was back, and even House blinked at the bitterness in his voice.

"We'll do our best, Mr. Oswin," House replied carefully.

The good humor was instantly back. "No, no, please call me William. We're on the same side, you and me."

"Yes, well, we have your medical records, and a very detailed medical history, but Dr. Chase will be asking you a few more questions, if you don't mind, and we'll need to take some blood for some more tests."

"Perhaps Dr. Cameron could do that instead." It did a good job masquerading as a casual remark, but it was clearly no such thing.

House was near enough to Cameron to feel her tense at this suggestion. She was drawing breath to speak, and House himself was an instant away from forever ruining his good first impression when Cuddy spoke up smoothly. "Perhaps Dr. Cameron and Dr. Chase could work together on that."

"I'm sure Dr. Cameron can handle things on her own."

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"I thought you said no strings attached," House said accusingly, almost before the door closed behind them.

"That much money always comes with strings," Foreman put in.

Helplessness made Cuddy angry. "Oh, come on. What do you think he's going to do, try to maul her right here in the hospital? He's eighty, for god's sake!"

Chase kept looking back over his shoulder. "His fifth wife just divorced him for mental cruelty. She's younger than Cameron."

"Cameron can take care of herself," Cuddy shot back, but she didn't sound convinced.

"She shouldn't have to worry about something like this!" House's voice was a barely controlled shout. "The point is that if he starts pushing us around now, he'll never stop. It'll be Vogler all over again." He was quieter now, but no less angry.

"But he hardly even looked at her twice," Cuddy said, worry creeping into her voice. Then her eyes widened. From their position down the hall, she could see the two assistants leaving the room.

Then House was brushing past her at top speed, his blue eyes grim, and Cuddy hurried to catch up. "House, please. Just let me go in there instead."

"You won't be menacing enough."

"My point exactly!"

The male assistant considered getting in House's way, but an icy glare changed his mind. He was bracing himself to barrel through the door when it opened in front of him and Cameron herself stepped out.

"What happened?" House demanded.

"Are you all right?" Cuddy chimed in.

Cameron blinked, then slowly focused on the two people before her. "What do you mean, what happened? Why wouldn't I be all right? I took the patient history like you asked me to." Her voice, too, was slow and hesitant at first, though this quickly passed.

House looked at her, frowning, then glared at the assistants and grabbed the younger doctor's arm, leading her away from the door towards the others. "First of all, _I_ asked _Chase_ to take the history. And I realize there wasn't much left to ask, but I know you didn't finish up that quickly. What happened?"

"Nothing!" Cameron insisted. "He apologized for sounding abrupt. He's just used to talking like that. His daughter is about my age, and he hasn't seen her in years. I reminded him of her, that's all. It's sad, he wasn't allowed to see his daughter at all, and he really misses her."

"Does he miss all the ex-wives who divorced him for mental cruelty, too?"

Cameron sighed and put on her patient face. "He's an old man scared of dying. It's made him rethink his life, and he really regrets some of the things he's done. He's trying to make up for them. That's why he's so anxious to get better." The others were all looking at her oddly, and she crossed her arms self-consciously.

"You know he can't 'get better' from old age," Chase pointed out.

"And you were in there less than a minute. How'd he even manage to say all this crap so fast, never mind get you to believe it? Even you're not usually quite that gullible."

She glared at House, but there was uneasiness hidden in the blue-green eyes. "I was—I don't know, I was in there for a little while. Certainly not less than a minute. Right?" She looked around at the group, her shoulders tensing.

Cuddy stepped in, sensing that this conversation would only make everyone more upset. "All right, run whatever tests you need, fast, and we'll just get him out of here as quickly as possible. We're going for professional, polite efficiency. And no one talks to him alone. At least two at a time."

"What exactly do you think that guy's doing in there?" Foreman asked in disbelief.

"I don't know, and I don't think I care to know. I just want him out of my hospital before he does turn into another Vogler."

"Or worse," House said thoughtfully as Cuddy turned and walked briskly back to her office.

-------------------------------------------

"So you're all right with going back in there with me?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. "For the tenth time, Chase, yes, it's fine. He was perfectly nice to me, as far as I remember. I just wish I could remember more."

Chase shrugged helplessly. "It still doesn't make any sense."

"Let's just focus on what Cuddy said. We'll just get him out of here as quickly as possible."

She hid her faint hesitation before stepping into the room with her best professional demeanor. Chase paused just before entering, carefully comparing his watch with the time on the hospital clock. The gesture made him feel both relieved and foolish.

"We have some of your test results back, Mr. Oswin," Cameron began. She held the file up like a shield, though she could never have explained why she was nervous. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she saw only ordinary grey eyes, with the usual expectant look patients always had upon hearing the magical phrase 'test results'.

"There are signs of incipient diabetes, most likely Type II, which isn't uncommon in people your age. We'd like to start you on an insulin regimen to regulate your metabolism, but after a few days, you'll probably be able to control it with diet instead."

Oswin shook his head impatiently. "But that's not killing me."

Cameron was taken aback by the flat, almost disappointed tone. "Uh, no. Properly treated, even much more severe cases—"

"Then there's something else wrong that you haven't found yet. I'd like to speak to Dr. House."

Chase had busied himself with noting the patient's vitals, but now turned to look at Oswin dubiously, setting down his clipboard. "Well, we'll let him know. There will be more test results finished soon, so he may want to talk to you then."

"As soon as possible," was the clipped response.

Back in the hall, both doctors took a deep breath, as though there hadn't been enough air in the room. "House is going to love this," Cameron sighed.

"Damn, I forgot my clipboard," Chase suddenly realized. "Just a second." He darted back into the room before Cameron could protest. She hesitated just outside the door, trying to find a crack in the blinds that she could peer through. Oswin had insisted on keeping them closed at all times, which had only made Cuddy repeat her earlier order more forcefully.

A moment later, just as Cameron was about to barge in, Chase was back in the hall, and she smiled in relief. Then she got a good look at his face.

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**A/N**: Please review, and make me smile. To be continued!


	2. And midnight never come

**A/N:** First of all, I have to apologize for neglecting two reviewers when I was thanking them last chapter: I managed to forget HousePlant and Quill-32. Sorry! And now I have a whole crowd of new reviewers: Merlin71, House Calls, Rchase-and-taylor, Allison Cameron MD, Megan, House-chik, Caitiri, and Darcy – thanks so much for taking the time to review. I'm glad so many of you like it.

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_Couldst thou make men to live eternally,  
Or, being dead, raise them to life again,  
Then this profession were to be esteem'd._

_--Christopher Marlowe_

"Throw him out."

"Why, Dr. Chase, I'm surprised at you. What happened to Christian charity? At least consider poor Cuddy. She'll have an aneurysm if she loses another hundred million."

"He isn't sick. Give him some placeboes and discharge him."

"Chase, be serious," Foreman said, shaking his head. He looked at Cameron for support, but she was studying House, as she had since she'd returned. "We already know there's nothing wrong with him, but if we can just—"

"There is something wrong with him," Chase cut in. "It just isn't something a hospital can fix."

House frowned, his sharp blue eyes not leaving Chase, who stood tensely in the middle fo the conference room. "I don't want him here any more than you do. But we need a reason to kick him out that won't make us sound crazy when we try to explain it to the board."

"Since when do you care what the board thinks? Cuddy will--"

"Even if we talk Cuddy into kicking him out, the board will probably just fire her and we'll still be stuck with him. So give me a reason." His words were hard, but his look was not unsympathetic.

Chase hesitated so long that House was about to speak again. "He's… manipulative."

"So am I. Are you going to throw me out, too?"

Chase shook his head sharply. "Not like that, he… 'There is also another evil, which I have seen under the sun, and that frequent among men: A man to whom God hath given riches, and substance, and honor.'"

"Chase," Cameron began, but he merely continued. She looked at House again, and whatever she read in his face only made her more uneasy.

"'If a man live many years, and attain to a great age, and his soul make no use of the goods of his substance, of this man I pronounce, that the untimely born is better than he. For he came in vain, and goeth to darkness.'"

"You want me to quote Ecclesiastes to the board?" It was a typical House remark, but the edge was all but gone from his voice.

Foreman was looking doubtfully at his colleague. "You could say the same thing about any rich man. What makes this one so different?"

"He's evil." Chase looked almost defeated, and did not meet anyone's eyes.

There was an awkward silence. Then House spoke.

"I think you're right."

------------------------------------------

Cameron had bolted when House left the room after his blunt statement, and was now hurrying to catch up to him as he stalked down the hallway. "What are you going to do?"

"If Cuddy asks, I'll tell her you knew nothing about it."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Cameron only caught the hesitation before he replied because she was listening for it. "What, then? You want to protect me from the big bad misunderstood billionaire?"

"I think Chase is right, too."

"Now that's a sentence you don't hear every day. Especially the 'too' part." He slowed down, and Cameron took advantage of this to put her hand on his arm. Though he slowed further, he still wouldn't quite look at her.

"I saw how he looked when he came out of that room. He wouldn't tell me what happened, but he was only in there for five seconds. Nothing normal could have affected him like that so quickly."

"Don't be too sure. This is Chase we're talking about."

But he didn't turn away as he normally would have. "Don't go in there by yourself."

"I'm not letting you anywhere near him." The false banter was gone, and Cameron knew he was deadly serious.

She immediately changed tactics. "Then take Foreman with you. An orderly, a nurse, somebody. Take a whole crowd with you!"

He stopped walking at last, and his eyes met hers. "Since when does an atheist believe in the devil?"

Her heart clenched at the word. "He doesn't have to be the devil to be evil."

"'The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary…'"

"'…men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.'" Cameron finished the quote, looking up at him almost hopefully.

"You're still waiting outside."

"House, please—"

"You still don't remember anything else about what might have happened to you?"

She saw concern, and, yes, uncertainty in his eyes, and that was somehow more frightening than anything Oswin could do. "No. It feels like a dream now. All I remember is feeling sorry for him."

House looked up at Oswin's door, now just a few yards away, and frowned. "Looks like I'm expected. I guess I'd better hurry."

Her eyes flickered over to the door. Oswin's helpers were just leaving the room, looking at House with vague curiosity. Or perhaps amusement.

Then House limped away. She followed him to the door, sending a chilly glare at the assistants as they passed each other.

They reached the door, and House looked at her very seriously. "Wait here, or you're fired."

Cameron bit her lip and nodded. She was relieved that he'd been his usual self. If he'd told her kindly, she probably would have burst into tears.

Then he was stepping into the room, and shutting the door behind him. The sound of it was like distant thunder.

She turned and planted herself next to the door, shooting wary glances at the assistants and their bland faces. There was no question of her physically stopping them from entering, but if something did happen, she would at least get inside first.

-----------------------------

"Ah, Dr. House. I'm glad you could spare me some time."

"Not at all. I've always wanted to have a chat with the Amazing Kreskin."

Oswin shook his head. "You don't really think I'm some kind of sideshow hypnotist, Dr. House. You'd like to believe that it's something like that, but you know it isn't true."

Even using his title, there was something sickeningly familiar about the way Oswin addressed him. "Actually, I heard you were evil and that got me curious. Are you more evil than, say, Hitler? Because then I can brag about having shaken your hand."

Now the man smiled. "You are clever, Dr. House. I understand wanting to defuse the situation with your delightfully dry and acerbic humor, but we really should get to business. I'd like to tell you a story. Sit down. Rest your leg."

House would sooner have had another infarction than show weakness in front of this man. "Go on," he said, bracing himself.

Oswin shrugged eloquently. "You do like to make things difficult for yourself. Still, it isn't a particularly long story. I can be quite brief."

When he began the story, House's first thought was that the comparison to Hitler had been more apt than he'd realized. The words were simple, the way they were spoken was nothing remarkable, but he was immediately caught up in them. He had just time to wonder if hours or days would have passed before he made it back outside before the words carried him away.

_Once upon a time, there was a young man who wanted what most young men want out of life – money, success, power, and, of course, sex. Not having been born to money or power, he had to make his own way in the world. He had a little more wit and imagination than most, but this is not generally enough to make one's way, and he was no exception._

_One day, he approached a man of wealth and power and asked him for the plain truth of his success. The man looked the boy up and down, then nodded once._

_And he told the boy the plain truth._

_The boy followed the wealthy man's advice to the letter, and because of this, found himself in possession of a rare and valuable commodity: the three wishes of fairy tale infamy._

_Since he was a boy of some wit and imagination, he vowed to do even more with these wishes than his mentor had done. To wish for money, fame, and power was all well and good, but that would not give him the means to keep those things._

_So he wished, first, for an uncanny sense of business; the instinct to know when to move and when to wait. This let him build his own fortune._

_Secondly, he wished that anyone who heard his words would have to listen, and believe. This brought him fame, or at least as much of that as he wished._

_And thirdly, he wished for the gift of seeing into others' hearts, of knowing their deepest wishes and desires. And this gave him true power._

_To have these three things for the next sixty years of his life, all he had to give in exchange was one small part of himself, something he had never seen and would never miss._

_What do you think of the boy's bargain? Would you have made the exchange as readily as he did, Dr. House?_

House physically staggered as the sound of his name penetrated whatever web the man had woven. His leg throbbed viciously as he righted himself. How long had he been standing there? He scrambled for something to say. It was only more weakness to be at a loss for words.

"I'd love to know what it was you were on. That must have been some strong stuff."

"You know all about drug addiction, don't you? You were unwilling to trade your leg for your life. What would you give now to have your leg back, whole and healthy, just as it was?"

"Trick question," House snapped. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of this man knowing about his leg, his pain, everything he hid from the world.

"Not at all. You can have that. Youth, strength, wholeness. Fame, wealth, power."

"Good things come in threes, huh?" The snark was all but automatic, but in his mind, he was still reeling.

"Then how about respect, adoration, love? Are you as indifferent to those things as you pretend?"

"I thought you already knew all that." The response was again automatic, and House soon regretted it.

"Yes, I do. _I know_." Oswin leaned forward. "I know how much pain you're in, all the kinds of pain you're in. I know how you fight against it, how much you fear that it will take away your mind as well as your leg. In your most secret moments you fear that someday, you will be nothing but the pain.

"You can lose that pain. You can gain strength, knowledge, the world if you want it! _Think_."

Thinking about the possibilities was already all House could do. The images pounded painfully in his mind, echoing the throbbing hurt of his thigh. _Whole. No pain. Impossible. Wasn't it?_

"Why are you doing this?" His voice was shakier than he liked, but this was what he had to do. He had to attack.

"I want to help you." The words came smoothly, but there was a weakening in his eyes that made House feel stronger.

"No, you don't. You're going down. You're dying. Maybe you just want to take someone with you."

Oswin actually hesitated, and House stood a little taller. "I won't die. You'll save me."

The arrogance still filled his voice, but House, of all people, knew a brave front when he saw one. "If your little fairy tale is true, what makes you think anyone can save you? You're alone now, and all your money, everything you have, means exactly _nothing_."

But Oswin was rallying, and he replied rapidly. "I'm not alone. We're more alike than you realize. Think what we could do together! Both of us are intelligent, capable men, renowned in our fields. We're both driven, determined—"

House shook his head and looked down at the remnants of his thigh. _Your leg. Whole._

_No. Not like this._ He lifted his head and met Oswin's gaze fearlessly. "I am nothing like you."

As he enunciated each word clearly, he saw the answering realization in Oswin's eyes.

Then rage flooded into those grey eyes, and House flinched in spite of himself. "You're right. You act ruthless, pretend you don't give a damn about anything but yourself, but in the end, you're as weak as everyone else. You're just a hypocrite about it. You've surrounded yourself with idiots. Dr Foreman doesn't have enough imagination even to guess what's really going on, and Dr. Chase is still clinging to blind religious faith, of all things. And Dr. Cameron…."

He paused, his lip curled slyly. He no longer hoped to persuade, only to wound. "If I was in your place, I wouldn't be daydreaming. I would have fucked that pretty little thing a long time ago. She looks delicious."

The tip of House's cane was pushing, hard, against Oswin's shoulder before the last word left his mouth. House didn't remember moving, but at least this time, it wasn't because of any mind games. "You'd better stop talking."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Don't you know what's waiting for me? Go ahead, kill me. _Kill me!_"

But all the anger had drained out of House. The sight of the sheer, animal terror in Oswin's eyes shook him, and he stumbled backwards.

The door flew open. "House!" Cameron said breathlessly.

"Out. Now." His voice was more a growl than words. Cameron stepped back into the hall immediately, though she kept the door from swinging shut.

House turned to look at his patient. He looked every day of his eighty years now, his body hunched as though waiting forthe blow. of House's cane. He would not lookup as House left, his free arm scooping Cameron away from the door.

---------------------------------------

After rounding the corner, House turned and went into an empty patient room, Cameron in his wake. "What happened?" she said breathlessly. She'd been unable to read anything in his face, and this was frightening her more than she cared to think about.

"Where'd his minions go?" was House's only reply.

"I don't know. They looked at each other strangely and left just a couple of minutes after you went inside."

"How long was I in there?"

"Eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds. House, what happened?"

House almost laughed out of sheer relief. "I always knew you counted the seconds until you could see me again." But he couldn't stand the fear in her eyes and continued immediately. "He tried to play me like he did you and Chase. Unfortunately for him, I don't play so easily."

_Yeah, right_. He could feel Cameron's eyes on him, and sense how uncertain she was. Her worry annoyed him just as much as it always did when directed at him, but this time it was also exactly what he needed.

"What do we do now?" she finally asked softly.

"Chase was right. A hospital can't fix him."

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**A/N**: To be continued. To give proper credit for the quotes: Chase does in fact quote Ecclesiastes, chapter six; House and Cameron jointly quote Joseph Conrad; and the opening quotes, chapter titles, and the overall story title are all from Christopher Marlowe's _The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus_. I didn't want to mention that before, of course…


	3. Think on the devil

**Disclaimer**:I had hoped to post sooner, but I had to go out and earn my living. This is because I still don't own House. I do own the character of William Oswin, but that doesn't earn me any money, and creeps me out besides. Also, I'm not Catholic, so I apologize for any mistakes I might have made in Chase's section of the following chapter.

**A/N**: My original plan was to make this the last chapter, but I've had such a good response, I feel inspired to write a little more. This chapter's something of an interlude (not much plot, but hopefully a lot of atmosphere), but I hope you all like it. And thanks again to everyone for the reviews (keep them coming, please), and for taking the time to read.

Again, all quotes are from Marlowe's _Dr. Faustus_.

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_**Faustus**: Stay, Mephistophilis! and tell me what good_

_Will my soul do thy lord._

_**Mephistophilis**: Enlarge his kingdom._

_**Faustus**: Is that the reason why he tempts us thus?_

_**Mephistophilis**: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. Misery loves company._

_**Faustus**: Why, have you any pain that torture others?_

_**Mephistophilis**: As great as have the human souls of men._

_-------------------------------------_

The labs worked late into the night, running every known test on their illustrious patient, and, Cuddy suspected, possibly a few more that the technicians had made up on the spot. No one was ever too thrilled about staying late, but at least they had plenty to talk about. A screaming match involving House was nothing new, but a screaming match where House came out the loser was definitely news, and this had fed the rumor mill to an alarming degree.

Cuddy did what she could to stop the talk. Unfortunately, this was one time when truth was worse than rumor.

There wasn't much she could do. The team was staying away from Oswin, who was being remarkably quiet about that fact, so no mediation was needed. But a worried Cameron had recruited her and a confused but cooperative Wilson to help keep an eye on House, and Cuddy felt that was the least she could do. House himself would be the first to tell her she was being stupid in taking on so much guilt, but she couldn't help but remember her excitement at winning such a coup for the hospital. Donation or no, a famous patient successfully treated always reflected well on a hospital and its administrators.

_The sin of pride,_ she thought tiredly.

She stared at her watch blankly for a moment before the time registered. Soon it would be time for her casual walk past House's office again. She tried to work, but could only rearrange the papers before her.

-------------------------------------------------

Foreman was helping in the lab, not something he normally did. This was only helping feed the gossip, especially the way he was half-bullying the techs, in almost Houseian fashion. But he couldn't stand being idle, and though he longed to go home and get out of this madhouse, that felt somehow disloyal. Besides, he was apparently the only rational one left on the team.

House had explained even less of his encounter with Oswin than Cameron and Chase had, but what he had said had convinced him. Once and for all, House had finally lost it. They were all just lucky that he'd lost it during a non-case instead of in the middle of a crisis.

In the morning, or better yet, once Oswin was gone and the place had settled down, he was going to have a serious talk with Cuddy about this. She'd be rational about all this, and help him get things back into perspective. He was a logical man, and he shouldn't have to deal with House's delusions and fairy tales.

He didn't believe in any of the things people were hinting at about Oswin. It was late, and he was tired, and that was the only reason he was even thinking about any of this.

He was a rational man.

----------------------------------------------------

Chase always kept a Bible and an old prayer book at the hospital along with his other things. At first, he'd left them there in case there was a dying patient in need of spiritual comfort, and no priest available. He didn't really imagine he'd be much of a substitute in such a case, and fortunately it hadn't happened yet. The only use he'd made of them so far was for his own comfort.

The ideas of Hell and Satan had gone through some changes of late: the first was no longer considered to be a place; and the second was no longer quite the anthropomorphized Prince of Darkness anymore. Exorcism was something Chase, like many others, had never been quite comfortable with. It was only rarely officially performed these days. But the old prayers were still there, and he murmured the words of one of them now.

_We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects; in the Name and by the power of Our Lord Jesus Christ…_

But there was no comfort, no safety, in the faintly musty pages of a book, even a holy book.

Whatever had happened in Oswin's room, it now seemed as unreal to Chase as it did to everyone else. It had never been clear, but now it was like a half-glimpsed, half-remembered nightmare. Easier to agree with Foreman and just assume he'd finally cracked under the pressure of work – except that would mean that House and possibly Cameron had cracked also, and that was too much.

He'd doubted before, of course. How could anyone not doubt in a hospital?

But today was the first time he'd ever despised his own faith.

------------------------

Cameron hadn't bothered trying to be subtle. House would know she was there, whatever she did. She just walked past his office whenever possible, making sure he was still inside. What she'd do if he ever wasn't there on one of her visits was something she hadn't been able to work out for certain.

Sometimes she exchanged a few hushed words with Wilson or Cuddy, though there was nothing new to say. No medical test could confirm or deny the dark ideas they all thought about but couldn't put into words.

How had she escaped? She should think herself lucky, but this question only disturbed her. An online biography she'd found told her that Oswin did in fact have an estranged daughter of thirty, so perhaps his story hadn't all been lies. He might have felt sorry for her because of his daughter, and couldn't bring himself to subject her to whatever horrors he'd sent to Chase and House. She couldn't forgive him for that, but if her idea was right, there was still some mercy in him.

It was the only explanation she could think of, and she was more and more convinced it was the correct one. That had to mean he wasn't yet beyond help, whatever Chase had said. There was still a chance that someone could reach him, pull him back from whatever terrible precipice he was on.

She was walking towards his room before she knew what she was doing. Even after she realized, it took her a moment to stop moving.

She turned, awkwardly, like a sleepwalker, and fled back towards the conference room.

--------------------------------

House sat in his office in the dark, the blinds drawn and the last dregs of his drink before him.

He'd lost count of the number of times Cuddy and Cameron had walked past his office – both were wearing heels, Cameron walking a little less lightly than usual, Cuddy a little less confidently. By now they must have both logged in miles of walking and checking up on him. Cameron had not-so-subtly peeked in from the conference room a couple of times before he'd limped over and shut those blinds also. Cuddy had stopped just outside the hall door on three occasions and hesitated for long moments. He'd wondered idly if she was trying to hear him breathe.

He wasn't as drunk as he would have liked, but there wasn't a lot he could do about that at the moment. Wilson had wandered in for some unspecified purpose about an hour ago – probably sent by Cameron, but for once House wasn't curious enough to find out for certain.

His visitor had finally let himself be driven away by House's non-answers and stony silences, both worse than usual, muttering something about checking up on him later. It wasn't until a minute or so after Wilson left that House discovered that the half-full bottle of scotch had left with him.

It was impossible to grow up on military bases without learning to swear impressively, in several languages, and House put this talent to full use now. But none of the language was actually directed at Wilson.

He swore at Oswin for existing, at whatever bizarre power or illusion had turned him into what he was today. He swore at Cuddy for accepting the case, at Vogler for taking back his money. Most of all, he swore at himself, at his leg, at his pain, his fear, his weakness. Finally he seized his cane, leaning patiently against his desk, and threw it across the room, watching with grim satisfaction as it crashed into a bookcase and sent several volumes thudding to the floor.

But nothing could drown out the refrain in his head. _Your leg. Whole. Just as it was._

_No more pain._

_------------------------------------_

But there is always pain in a hospital. There is always a woman vainly tending a child ravaged by cancer, a husband waiting by the bedside of his dying wife, a son watching his father struggle to live another day.

Pain calls to pain. Each plea and every tear, shed or unshed, pulls together into a clinging web of sorrow, a tangled tapestry of lost chances and denied forgiveness, the fabric that weighs down all those left behind.

It is this blanket that covers William Oswin, this night and every night, as he goes to sleep. Whether it is more pleasure or torment to him, not even he can say.

-----------------------------------

To Be Continued


	4. Of body and of soul

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _House_. I'd say that I'd sell my soul to own it, but I'm getting a little nervous of that phrase.

**A/N**: Almost done. (Good thing, too – these multi-part stories make me nervous!) Thanks again to all the great reviewers out there, and to all those who read. Credit as always to the great Christopher Marlowe, without whose genius I'd never have been able to think of titles for all this.

I'm also looking for inspiration for my next story, so if anyone has any suggestions, please do send them my way.

--------------------------------------------

_**Mephistophilis**: But tell me, Faustus, shall I have thy soul?_

It was some time after the crash – long enough that House guessed the two events weren't connected – when the knock sounded on his door. It was a little strange to hear a knock, but it was so quiet and tentative that he immediately decided it must be Cameron, resorting now to more direct methods of checking on him.

He debated ignoring it, longed to ignore it. Then he had visions of Cameron, Wilson, Cuddy, and possibly several large orderlies all coming in rapid succession to pound on his door and push their way in, and decided to try and nip that in the bud.

"I'm fine," he called, sounding anything but. It was almost too much effort to speak up enough to be heard. "Go make yourself useful in the lab."

But the door opened instead, and he blinked in faint surprise. "You're not Cameron."

Cuddy stood in the doorway, shaking her head. "No. Never studied immunology. I could go down to the lab, but I think that would only make the technicians nervous."

There was a tense pause, then she stepped further into the room. She shot a curious glance at the books on the floor, but she knew it was better not to ask too many questions. Cameron had, of necessity, been vague about the details, but it was impossible not to realize just how shaken the man before her was. "I—I'm sorry, House."

He made a face. "Is the whole world revolving around your guilt again? You really should stop that. Not healthy."

Cuddy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Thanks."

"For calling you unhealthy?"

She shook her head. "No. For—for still being you, I guess."

There was another pause, this time slightly less tense. "I knew you'd grow to love my abuse."

Now she managed something more like a laugh, and rolled her eyes, because this was almost, almost the moment of sheer, blissful normality she'd needed. "Oh, yeah. Everyone loves having their authority flouted."

She hesitated, studying him for a moment. It was too dark to see his face, but his voice was flat and exhausted, and he'd hardly moved. "I'm calling a board meeting tomorrow morning."

"Won't matter."

"But it's worth a try."

"I mean that it won't matter any more by tomorrow morning."

Cuddy froze, and House caught her sudden panic. "Relax. You won't have to call the police."

She relaxed a fraction. "Promise?"

House sighed, hesitating just long enough for Cuddy to grow tense and nervous again. But when he did speak, his voice was definite. "Promise."

There were several snide comments on the tip of her tongue, but she some instinct stopped her from saying them. "I'm holding you to that," she said in her best hospital administrator voice, and then she turned and left.

House stared at his empty glass until the click of her heels faded into nothing. They sounded more confident now, he noticed. Ironic that he could restore confidence to anyone right now.

He considered chasing after Wilson and harassing the oncologist until he got his lost scotch back. He considered going in search of Cameron so he could spy on her and see how she liked it. He considered everything except the one possibility that was most on his mind: going back to Oswin's room.

Of course, all these possibilities required that he first get up and retrieve his cane. It had found an unlikely landing spot, wedged between the bookcase and the wall, and the last thing he wanted to do was limp over there and wrestle with it. But asking for help wasn't going to happen, either, and he was running out of time.

He made one last, fruitless effort to find some more alcohol at the bottom of his glass, then pushed his chair back and prepared for the trek to the other side of the room. _It doesn't have to hurt anymore_. He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. Then, he caught a faint sound that he hadn't heard for a while, and the door to the conference room opened.

"Ah, the head nursemaid," he said, flicking a quick glance in Cameron's direction. "I thought you'd finally forgotten about me."

This sort of comment would normally have made Cameron blush, or perhaps snark back, but not this time. From that door, she had an excellent view of both the books and the cane that had dislodged them, and her eyes flickered over to them now. Wordlessly, she walked over and carefully untangled the cane, then handed it to him across his desk.

"I wasn't just watching you for your sake. It was for mine, too," she finally said.

"What happened?" He'd taken hold of the cane, but had forgotten to keep moving as he studied her pale face, and now they each stood still, holding one end.

She shrugged. "Maybe nothing. I don't know anymore." Gently, she pushed the cane towards him a little, and he finally took it and rested it across his knees.

Now he knew where at least some of her fear was coming from. A doctor without trust in her own judgment was no doctor at all. But he could hardly blame her for doubting when it came to this patient.

"What happened?" he repeated, with unusual patience.

"I—I was ready to forgive him. I felt sorry for him again, completely out of nowhere, and I wanted to forget everything he'd done to you and to Chase and just do whatever I could to help him."

She paused, grimacing faintly. "Maybe you don't think that's anything weird for me. But it is. I wasn't… thinking like myself."

House almost matched her grimace. "No, I know. It wasn't your fault."

He planted his cane on the floor and hauled himself out of the chair, taking a moment to let his leg adjust. "Come on. You can wait outside again."

-------------------------

Cameron's protests were useless, and her questions about exactly what he intended to do got the answer she'd expected, which was no answer at all. "House, he's getting to all of us, one way or another. Don't give him another chance at you," she pleaded.

"One way or another, he won't be a problem by tomorrow morning."

"But how can you—"

"Just trust me. Would I lie to you?"

"Repeatedly." She spoke matter-of-factly, with a hint of a nervous smile.

"That's my girl. You're learning." He slowed a little and looked over at her. "But I'm not lying now."

She considered this for a moment, studying his eyes. "All right. But let me help you, please."

He started to wave off the idea, then reconsidered. "There is something you can do. Watch out for Hekyll and Jekyll. I asked around, and it looks like they didn't leave the hospital. If you see them, knock twice.

She desperately wanted to ask why, and what he thought they might be up to, but she only nodded. "Be careful."

"Always." He paused, staring at the door for a moment, then looked back at her. "Cameron…"

The pause dragged on until she could stand it no longer. "What?" she murmured, her voice shaking.

"It'll be okay," he said, and turned quickly, opening the door and stepping inside before she could protest.

Earlier, she'd hurried back to the conference room because she felt stronger there, more herself. And it had helped to know that House was in the next room. Now, the defenses she'd built up were crumbling again.

She'd seen hesitation, even fear, in his eyes.

Her heart pounding, she took up the same spot near the door where she'd waited earlier.

-------------------------

"Everybody lies."

The words threw House off-balance. For once, he wasn't the one speaking them. "Guess it's time to renew my copyright," he said, not quite as glibly as he would have liked.

"It's a very apt motto."

"Especially when talking to you," House shot back.

"You're still not sure. You don't trust me any more than you trust anyone else, and why should you? I'm the bad guy."

Now Oswin turned and looked at House for the first time, and the younger man was shocked at the change. He looked every day of his eighty years, his face deeply lined, his hair thinner, the fire gone from his sunken eyes. But no, House realized as he hobbled closer, the fire was still there. Now it was the fire of unreasoning fear, the primal urge to survive.

"You're desperate," House said flatly. "This is your last day, isn't it? Your eightieth birthday, according to your file. You finally figured out that medical science can't help you, and now you've only got one chance left. Just like every big businessman, you need a scapegoat when the deal goes sour, someone to take the hit for you. But you made a big mistake looking here."

"Did I? You know what you can gain from this deal. Can you honestly say you don't want your leg back, more than anything? More than your friends, your family, your job—"

"Don't keep saying you know what I want." His voice was a growl. He hardly knew what he was saying, but he knew he had to keep Oswin from talking until he had his equilibrium back. "I don't care what the hell you wished for, you don't know what's in my head. You're losing, you've already lost! Look at yourself!"

Oswin flinched. "You can save me. You can save us both." He was pleading now, but for once, he'd tried the wrong tactic.

"If you can't even get to Cameron with your damn pity party, what the hell makes you think it'll work on me? We both know you're running out of time. I can outlast you."

The tired eyes, in that moment, were tired no longer, and House knew he'd been wrong to say that Oswin couldn't tell what was in his head.

"Can you?" he asked mildly.

Then House was falling.

_It'll be okay. Promise. I'm fine._ _No more pain. I want to help you. Your leg back, whole, just as it was. What do you think of the boy's bargain?_

_He clung to his cane, that hated, beloved companion, and knew that he was upright, but he was still falling._

_Then, like the ringing of distant bells, he heard two clear knocks._

_Be careful. Let me help you._

_Cameron._

And his feet were under him again, and he was back in Oswin's room.

So, he then realized, were the two assistants, though he didn't recall hearing the door open. In fact, it couldn't have opened, or he would certainly have heard Cameron making some sort of fuss about not letting them in. But the fact was, they were there.

They did not look at their erstwhile boss, but at House, as though waiting for his orders. There was absolutely nothing remarkable about either of them; an ordinary business-suited man and woman that you might see walking down any street or hallway. They studied him neutrally, expressionlessly.

And something about them made the most primal part of House's brain demand that he run.

He looked at Oswin. The billionaire, who could seize rival companies, manipulate the stock market, and possibly crush small countries, was now small and old and wasted, too weakened even to move. He stared at the two new arrivals, his eyes now filled with the blankness that follows terror too great for the mind to comprehend.

"It's almost midnight," House told Oswin.

Then he steeled himself and glanced back at the others, not quite meeting their eyes.

"He's all yours."

He turned and limped from the room as quickly as he could, his hand white-knuckled around his ever-present cane.

------------------------

**A/N**: Final chapter/epilogue coming soon. Please review and/or throw ideas my way.


	5. The stars move still

**Disclaimer:** Yeah, I think we all know the drill by now.

**A/N:** One last thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride. And remember, there's always time to review if you haven't yet…

----------------------------

At midnight exactly, the alarms sounded. The monitors in William Oswin's room all sprang to life, shrieking to summon help for the dying man. Doctors and nurses raced towards the sound, applying all their long-practiced skills to their attempts at resuscitation. It was a chaotic dance, but everyone knew the steps, and not a beat was missed.

The only faintly jarring note was the confusion everyone felt. They all knew this man wasn't a real patient. There'd been nothing seriously wrong with him. So why did they find themselves now fighting for his life? As all their efforts inexplicably failed, and the dance slowly resolved itself into a time of death, they all found time to wonder what could possibly have happened.

The only two people who might have been able to answer their questions stayed apart, standing in the shadows of a doorway down the hall, watching quietly as the group began to disperse, and Oswin became merely another corpse.

"Are they really gone?" Cameron finally asked.

They'd both been checking up and down the hall for some time now, looking for any sign of the two who had ushered Oswin into death. House could only shrug. "Looks like it. Or maybe they're just too busy to come back right now."

She couldn't quite suppress a shudder. "This is a nightmare, right?"

"You're hurting my feelings. I thought I starred in your dreams, not your nightmares."

This usually would have earned him an eye roll, if not an annoyed comment, but right now Cameron just laughed shakily. "All right, it's a nightmare with one or two good things left in it."

She watched a nurse pull the sheet up over Oswin's face, and was surprised to realize that there was no terror in his last expression, only blankness. She was more surprised to hear herself breathe a faint sigh of relief. Then she bit her lip, ashamed of the thought.

As usual, House seemed to read her mind. "I think just this once, it's okay to be a little glad that we lost a patient. I won't tell anyone."

He wasn't being nearly as snide as usual, and Cameron looked up at him doubtfully. "Are you the same person who annoyed everyone by insisting on treating a death row inmate, because every patient deserves the same care?"

"I mostly only annoyed you. Well, maybe Cuddy, too." Then his face softened, and he looked tired and pale. "We were in a whole different ballgame this time."

Cameron's hand hovered over his arm, her fingers not quite touching the fabric of his jacket. "I know. But I hate sports metaphors," she said quietly.

House stayed very still for a long moment, ignoring the pain that was now resurfacing from the pool of Vicodin-laced Scotch, vengeful over its near-drowning. So much of his life was tied up in these walls, it seemed as though everything that had ever happened to him had happened here. This was where he'd driven himself to work until he was near collapse, where he'd hidden from patients and lost himself in soap operas. He'd crossed swords with Cuddy, mooched countless lunches from Wilson, harassed nurses and his own staff until they were ready to scream or cry, saved lives and made enemies.

And he'd lost his leg here. Pushed Stacy away here.

Was this going to become another loss that would forever divide his life into before and after?

Then he remembered the sound of two quick knocks on a window, at exactly the right moment, and shook his head. As much as he didn't care what people thought of him, he knew he couldn't stand to be looked at the way Chase had looked when he talked about Oswin. And how would Wilson look at him, or Cuddy? Even the ever-pragmatic Foreman?

He sighed and looked down at Cameron, standing just as still as he was. She'd claimed once to hate him, but he knew he'd never yet seen real hate in those clear, blue-green eyes. He wasn't going to be the one to put it there. Whatever he'd lost, he hadn't yet lost whatever passed for his soul.

"Come on. You wanted to help? You can help me find Wilson and annoy him until we get my Scotch back. We've earned a drink."

------------------------------------------

The next morning dawned grey and chilly, a steady drizzle soaking the ground and turning everything dark. Cameron arrived early, even by her standards, and turned on the lights of the conference room to find that Chase had arrived even earlier. More accurately, she guessed he'd never left, since his clothes were those he'd worn yesterday. He squinted at the lights, but only looked resigned.

She murmured a greeting, then brewed coffee in silence and handed him a cup. He gave an equally quiet thanks, and sipped absently.

Foreman entered a minute or two later, looking subdued and nearly as tired as Chase. Joining Cameron at the coffee maker, he murmured a few questions at her, which she could only answer in the negative. No, she hadn't yet seen House, nor had she seen Cuddy this morning.

But House appeared almost before she finished speaking, and even Chase looked up in faint surprise at seeing him so early. Like Cameron, he'd gone home and showered and changed, but hadn't quite managed to sleep. He took his mug from Cameron automatically, feeling his body wake up a little at the warmth and the familiar smell.

But it was still a tired, silent group that Cuddy found when she appeared a few minutes later. Even House was just sitting, neither playing video games nor tossing his oversized tennis ball around the room. Cuddy seemed less than energetic herself, but as usual, she still managed to look professional and together, no matter how much she felt the opposite.

She cleared her throat nervously, and knew she'd just blown her image of calm. "Good morning, everyone. I just wanted to thank you all. I know you all put in late hours and a great deal of effort on this last case, and I appreciate it. And I'd also like to apologize for—for any extra stress that this case may have put you under."

She couldn't get any closer to explaining than that, couldn't look anyone in the eye. "You can all take today off if you'd like. There aren't any urgent cases, and the clinic is covered well enough."

This didn't provoke quite the thanks and relief she'd hoped for, though Foreman smiled and nodded his head gratefully, and Cameron murmured a thank you. Cuddy shot quick, worried glances at both Chase and House before continuing. "I do have one piece of good news, though. Oswin's executors left word that his will provided for a twenty million dollar bequest to the hospital. It… may be dirty money, in a way, but at least we can put it to good use."

She told herself again that she should be happier about the money, but she knew it had come at too high a cost. "I've been thinking of suggesting to the board that the money should go to the NICU," she added, looking at Chase.

For a moment, Cuddy was sure that Chase was going to object, but then he nodded slowly. "They certainly can put it to good use," he said, sitting up a little straighter.

"I'll recommend that, then." She allowed herself one quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you all again. And please, go home and get some rest." Her smile was tense but genuine as she looked at each of them in turn before leaving the room.

A concerned Foreman offered Chase a ride home, which was accepted, though Chase added that he wanted to stop by the NICU on the way and give them the probable good news before they heard any garbled versions of it through the rumor mill.

No sooner had they left than Wilson appeared. "Hey, I hear you guys are getting sprung early today."

Cameron, gathering up her things, drew breath to reply, but House beat her to it. "You're just in time. You can give me a ride home, and replace that bottle of Scotch on the way.

"You want me to buy you a whole bottle? Yours was half empty!" Wilson objected.

House gave him a scolding look. "Half _full_, Wilson. I hope you're not such a pessimist with your patients." He hauled himself up from his chair and grabbed his backpack. "I still can't believe you dropped it in the first place."

"If it's any consolation, my office still reeks like a distillery. One of the janitors is working on that now so my patients won't think I'm a raving alcoholic, and soon it will reek of that lovely hospital disinfectant instead."

"Even better. You can't use your office, so you're free to drive me home."

"What about your bike?"

"At home. I took a cab today. It didn't seem fair to risk my fellow citizens' lives by driving while I was fuming about my lost Scotch."

Cameron couldn't help but laugh at this exchange, though she was amazed that she actually wanted to laugh. "I'll just leave you two to sort this out," she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

But House swung his cane out to stop her. "You owe Cameron a bottle, too. I promised her a drink and she never got one. Go on, give him those puppy-dog eyes," he added encouragingly to the immunologist.

"Oh, no, don't drag me into this." She held up her hands in surrender.

"House—" Wilson began, in his best exasperated tone.

"I'll buy you breakfast," House cut in, stunning the oncologist into silence.

He turned to the equally surprised Cameron. "You, too. But you have to hurry, this is a limited time offer."

Wilson had already had breakfast, but he wasn't about to mention that. "I'll go grab my keys and meet you out front," he said, turning and hurrying from the room.

Cameron looked at House curiously, but said only, "Thank you."

He put on his usual annoyed look at being thanked and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't get used to it."

"I won't."

One corner of her mouth was quirked in a smile that she was trying to hide, and House glared at her. "Don't look smug, either. I haven't suddenly turned optimistic. I've got a free pass from Cuddy for the day, I can probably guilt her into some hours off clinic duty, and I'll only be reminded about that lost hundred million four-fifths as often. That's reason enough to be in a good mood."

Cameron nodded. "Of course." But she was still looking at him, expecting him to say more.

"And… today I remembered that things can always get worse, so buy your friends breakfast while you can." House shifted uncomfortably, wondering what she was going to make of being called a friend, but it was too late now.

She gave up hiding her smile and let it light up her face. "Then we'd better get going, before Wilson thinks you've changed your mind."

"Oh, he doesn't give up on me that easily. He knows I take a while to come around."

Cameron just laughed, and held open the door for him as he left. Then she reached back and turned off the lights, letting the quiet shadows claim the empty room.

------------------------------------------

_Ah, Faustus,_

_Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,_

_And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!_

_Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,_

_That time may cease, and midnight never come;_

_Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again and make_

_Perpetual day; or let this hour be but_

_A year, a month, a week, a natural day,_

_That Faustus may repent and save his soul!_

_O lente, lente, curite noctis equi. (Run softly, softly, horses of the night)_

_The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,_

_The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd._


End file.
